loneliness is a virus.
it spreads, and right when you’re at your weakest
it erupts,
taking over everything that you were once.

for the description of it
more noticed by those who know the feeling well—
                                                                              ever had it happen,
                           being surrounded by a dozen yet known by none?
               cared for, realized, required as the penultimate presence—
                                                                                                      neither.

first, it is grief, sometimes the ache of what has taken place,
even belief and the thoughts turned metaphoric.
anything that situates you out of a group you thought you knew all too well.

and the virus needs a point —
anywhere from any source,
it replicates itself over and over and over
until it’s all you’ve known.
and you could have been happy
                                                         but you never really belonged?

that is the bug speaking.
the cure?

master the art of direct expression
instead of suppressing it every time it gets hard.

but the real question—
                                                                                             to whom?

now you’re just lonely.